


Whispers in the Dark

by KitsuneArashi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive Parents, Angst with a Happy Ending, CPR, Cutting, Depression, Drowning, Homophobia, M/M, Near Drowning, Self Harm, Soulmates, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, graphic parental abuse, love at first kiss, shitty parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 19:19:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9917963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitsuneArashi/pseuds/KitsuneArashi
Summary: You know that voice in your head? The one that whispered things you’d never say out loud, that you’d never admit to thinking? What if it wasn’t yours? What if it belonged to the missing half of your soul, to your soulmate?What kind of person is your soulmate? Are they kind? Violent? Lonely? What if your soulmate is as broken as you are?What if you were so broken, that you didn’t even have one?





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this was going to be my submission for the DeanCas midwinter-tropefest but I finished it super early and I'm struggling to keep it to myself, I also feel like it's way too dark and would prefer to do something fluffier so I'll try again with another one and post this now instead. 
> 
> Prompt was: What if the voice in your head is your soulmate's?

  
“Castiel!” Naomi’s voice carried up the marble staircase, echoing down the hallway, but just as shrill and loud when it reached Castiel’s bedroom as it would have been were he standing beside her.  
  
“Coming Mother!” Castiel called back, hastily shoving his skin mag back under his mattress and tucking his softening cock back into his pants. Nothing killed his boner quite like the disapproving tone of Naomi Novak’s voice. He hurried to the foyer, sneaking a look at the clock in on the wall as he did so. “Is everything alright, Mother?”  
  
Naomi gave her youngest son a flat look and reached for his arm, holding it in a crushing grip with her left hand as she brought her right around to deliver a slap to his cheek, the crack of skin on skin loud. The shocked gasp that escaped Castiel’s lips was a stark contrast to the calm breaths of his mother as she released his arm and stood back, taking in the red handprint on Castiel’s cheek. She noted with some satisfaction that he didn’t raise a hand to touch it; he knew better than to react.  
  
“Don’t look at me like that, Castiel,” Naomi ordered, and Castiel dropped his eyes to the tiles at her feet. “Better. Do you know what that was for, Castiel?”  
  
Castiel shook his head slowly, mind running through everything he’d done recently, sure that there was nothing, _that his mother knew about_ , that she would disapprove of. Naomi tsked and Castiel gritted his teeth when he felt her hand in his hair, tilting his head back so that she could wrap a hand around his throat.  
  
She met his eyes, steel grey, coldly staring into his panicked blue ones, “Think hard, Castiel.”  
  
Castiel’s mind went immediately to the magazine under his mattress, an idea he discarded instantly, if she knew about _that,_ things would be a lot worse. He swallowed, wincing when her fingers tightened against his windpipe. His eyes searched the room, hunting for a clue, when his gaze landed on the stack of mail. A single envelope lay on the top, carefully sliced open in the precise, calculated way that Naomi did everything. He paled.  
  
“That’s right, Castiel,” Naomi cooed, voice softening even as her grip hardened. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”  
  
_Of course, of fucking course. I should have known better than to think I’d ever be able to get away._  
  
The thought flashed through Castiel’s head and he slumped down in defeat, as much as he could with his mother’s hand still pressing into his windpipe, nearly falling when she suddenly released him.  
  
Castiel sucked in a relieved breath, the cool air a relief for lungs he hadn’t realized had been straining. His exhale turned into a soft cry, torn from him when his mother’s hand slammed into his cheek again, the force of the hit sending him reeling.  
  
“I’m sorry, Mother,” he apologized instantly, a bubble of fear rising through him the second he heard the sound escape his lips.  
  
Her eyes narrowed but, to his great relief, she stepped back, moving towards the mail instead of punishing him for his lack of control. She snatched up a letter and read aloud, “Dear Castiel, Congratulations! It gives me tremendous pleasure to inform you that the Juilliard piano faculty and the committee on admissions have granted you admission to the Classical Music - Bachelor of Music program at the Juilliard school for the 2018-19 year, blah, blah, blah.” She dropped the hand holding the letter down by her side and took in the growing excitement in her son. Her facial expression shifted momentarily to rage before she schooled her features to the usual indifference. “Music school, Castiel?” Her voice was low and dangerous, and Castiel swallowed, tearing his gaze away from the letter.  
  
“The best in the country,” he said hopefully, keeping his eyes on his feet and his hands clasped in front of him, the perfect picture of an obedient son.  
  
The sound of tearing paper snapped his head up and he watched, chest aching, as Naomi tore the acceptance letter to shreds. He swallowed again and waited, struggling to keep his emotions in check and not allow the tears to fall.  
  
“Get out of my sight, Castiel,” Naomi sighed tiredly, as though she couldn’t stand to be around her disappointment of a son for another moment.  
  
_Fuck! FUCK! Just this one thing, why can’t I have this one thing for myself?_

Castiel’s thoughts were furious and heartbroken as he fled to his bedroom, closing the door behind him before heading to his bathroom and digging around for his shaving kit.  
  
_I am in control of my own life,_ he thought bitterly, as he dug through the bag for his blade.

“I control my own life,” he whispered brokenly, dragging the blade across his skin lightly, just hard enough to break the skin, barely enough to bleed. He stared down at the thin, red line guiltily, he hadn’t meant to actually make himself bleed. Just the control of holding the blade and knowing that he _could_ do it was usually enough to make him feel in control again, and yet, here he’d actually cut and he hadn’t even meant to.

 _I can’t even control myself,_ he could have cried at the realization that even this one little part of his life, that he thought he had control over, was out of his hands. He brought the blade close to his skin again, watching as he pressed a little harder this time, cutting deep enough that he could see the skin split open before the blood started to fill the line and run down his arm.  
  
_I should kill myself._ The thought stopped Castiel in his tracks and the blade slipped from his fingers in his shock.  
  
_No,_ he thought firmly, _no, killing myself is not the answer._  
  
_But, I’d have control over that, it would be MY choice. MINE._  
_  
But nothing would ever get better. If I’m alive things could still change for me, if I do this… if I do this, nothing will ever get better._

Castiel argued himself in circles, even as he flushed the loose blade down the toilet and cleaned the blood off himself. He dug a cut off sock out of his drawer and pulled it onto his arm, pressing hard over the new cuts to his scarred skin.  
  
_There is still a chance if I’m still alive. I’ll be 18 soon and then I can leave, it doesn’t matter where._

Castiel held onto hope that, once he was 18 and done with high school, he could get away. Get away from living under Naomi Novak’s roof and rules. He didn’t need that exact acceptance letter to go to Juilliard, he was accepted and that was enough. He went to sleep that night thinking about having his own apartment and the freedom to do whatever he wanted to. It was the first night since his father had left that he didn’t cry himself to sleep. Instead, he felt hopeful.

* * *

  
As time went on, Castiel’s suicidal thoughts grew more frequent, despite his hopes for his imminent freedom. Christmas came and went with little fanfare, his mother giving him some money, which he squirrelled away for his intended move to New York. His savings were pretty meager. He wasn’t sure how much it would cost for him to get an apartment but he was sure it was more than he had.  
  
Castiel was lying in the bath, trying to calm himself down after his mother had finished one of her random room searches and had come perilously close to finding his vibrator when an idea struck him.  
  
_I could drown myself._ The thought was loud in his head and he eyed the water thoughtfully, even though he didn’t really have any intention of going through with the idea. _It is meant to be a relatively painless way to go_ , he conceded, lying back enough that just his nose stayed above the water level. _It would be so easy._

Castiel sat up in a rush. “What the hell is wrong with me?” he muttered aloud, shaking his head and trying to banish the depression. _Soon. Soon school will be over and I can get away._ _  
__  
_ Letting the water out of the tub, be wrapped himself in a towel and cursed under his breath, noting he’d forgotten to bring clothes into the bathroom with him. He stepped out into the cold of his bedroom and stopped short.  
  
On his bed lay his skin mags, as well as his vibrator, and a backpack. His key-ring lay on top of the magazine, his house keys had been removed. Castiel’s towel dropped to the ground in his shock and he didn’t even flinch at the rush of chilled, January air against his skin.  
  
_Fuck._ She knew. There was no doubt that his mother knew, the magazines left little to the imagination. Castiel side-eyed the backpack and his eyes caught onto a note, hastily scribbled, his mother’s usually neat handwriting almost illegible. There was just one word:   _Leave_.

Castiel swallowed, and felt himself grow numb. Honestly this was the best possible reaction to Naomi finding out that he was gay. There had been times when Castiel was sure that, if she found out, she would literally _kill_ him.  
  
He dressed slowly then carefully went through his room, filling the backpack with his small savings and his clothes, before he dug through his closet and grabbed his father’s tan trenchcoat. It was the last thing he had of the man who had been his shield from Naomi’s abuse, until the day it had grown to be too much and he’d left without a word.  
  
The hallway was empty when he left his room, closing the door behind him for the last time. He made his way through the house towards the foyer, unsurprised that Naomi wasn’t even going to watch him leave. She hadn’t batted an eyelid when his father left, either.  
  
Castiel wasn’t sure where to go. He didn’t have friends and his brothers had all left Illinois as soon as they could. He sat in his car and tightened his hands around the steering wheel, sucking in deep breaths to try and avoid panicking. He could do this, this was his first taste of freedom.  
  
_Freedom is a length of rope, God wants you to hang yourself with it._ The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth and he shuddered, starting the car and leaving behind his life in Illinois. Castiel didn’t know where he was going, but anywhere was better than here.  
  
He picked a direction at random and started driving, constantly fighting against himself and his own thoughts, begging him to just kill himself and be done with it. He passed a sign that directed him towards the Mark Twain Memorial Bridge, where the Mississippi River marked the state line and a thought flashed into his head unbidden.  
  
_I should just throw myself off that damned bridge. Fuck it, no one would care..._ _  
__  
_ It was dark when Castiel reached the bridge, the headlights of his car reflected back at him from the windscreen of a sleek, black, muscle car that was parked in the middle of the long bridge and he brought his own to a stop, noticing that the other car was empty.  
  
He pulled over and looked around, trying to find the owner of the car. “Hello?” he called into the cold, night air. He shivered and pulled his coat tighter, breath misting in front of him as he walked towards the car, checking the backseat as well.  
  
There was no one there and he eyed the edge of the bridge cautiously. The thoughts of throwing himself off it weren’t there anymore, there was just a voice in his head screaming wordlessly, a panic so strong that he suddenly, finally, caught onto what must have happened.  
  
Castiel had grown up lonely, his brothers so much older that they had already reached puberty when he was born. Instead of spending time with their brother, they spent their time talking to the voices in their heads.  
  
Castiel had been excited for the day he would have someone too, a voice in his head that wasn’t his own, his soulmate. But when puberty came and went, and no feminine voice spoke in his head, he thought that maybe his soulmate was dead. When he found himself looking longer at men than he did at women he thought that he was broken and that he had no soulmate at all, but _now,_ he thought, _maybe he’d been wrong_.  
  
He had no time to revel in his realization. The panicked screaming in his mind, the mental screaming that he _finally_ understood didn’t belong to him, was growing weaker. Suddenly all he could think about was how cold it was out here, and he anxiously looked around, desperately trying to find the owner of the black car.  
  
_Air, I need air. Oh shit… this was a bad idea. Sammy, I’m sorry…_ the thought bubbled weakly into Castiel’s head and everything was confirmed at once. Castiel leaped into action, throwing off his father’s coat as he ran for the edge of the bridge, leaping over the side without a second thought for his own safety.  
  
The shock of the icy water stunned Castiel for a moment and he gasped, all the air leaving his lungs in a rush of bubbles as he sank, his clothes soaking through instantly and weighing him down. He thrashed, kicking his way back to the surface desperately, eyes seeking any movement in the dark.  
  
A form in front of him drew his attention and he took a chance, cutting through the water as fast as he could. He sighed with relief when the shape in front of him was indeed a body, anxiety rocketing back up through him when he made contact and he felt how cold the man’s skin was.  
  
“I’m going to get you out,” Castiel promised, tightening his grip on the man’s shoulder, swallowing bile at the lifeless way the body bobbed in the water. Castiel lay on his back in the water, pulling the limp form onto his chest, and keeping him there with an arm wrapped around the other man’s torso, gripping tightly to his shoulder with one hand as he used the other to keep himself afloat while he kicked them back to shore.  
  
Castiel dragged the limp form from the water, carefully lowering the young man onto the ground when they finally made it to safety. It took Castiel a moment to realise that the other man wasn’t breathing and he struggled to remember what to do in this situation, his mind flashing to movies he’d seen involving CPR. He swallowed his anxiety back down and took a breath, kneeling down to breathe into the mouth of the man he’d pulled from the water.  
  
Castiel wasn’t sure that what he was doing was correct, but he imitated the CPR he’d seen on TV as best as he could, fighting his own panic as he pressed against the still chest and breathed air into lifeless lungs.  
  
He nearly jumped out of his skin when the man below him choked on a breath, finally sucking in air of his own before turning onto his side and vomiting up river water.  
  
Castiel collapsed backwards in relief, before he shuddered violently, the cold much more noticeable now that the original danger had passed. He pulled himself back up, they needed to keep moving; if they stopped now then they’d likely freeze to death.  
  
“Can you move?” Castiel asked, reaching down to grab onto the man’s arm and pull him up.  
  
The man opened confused green eyes and nodded minutely, swaying where he stood and leaning heavily against Castiel’s side.  
  
Castiel pulled him closer and they slowly shuffled up the river bank and towards the road. Castiel led them to his own car where he knew he had a change of clothes and a blanket, the keys still dangling in the ignition.  
  
Castiel tugged open the back door, grabbing the blanket from on top of his backpack and wrapping it around the other man’s shoulders before pushing him towards the front passenger seat. “Get in, turn the heat on,” he ordered gently, before returning to his backpack and digging out dry clothes. He offered the slightly taller man his sweatpants, a long sleeved Henley, and a pair of socks. Castiel helped him tug off the saturated shoes before stepping back around the car to change out of his own wet clothes.  
  
He definitely needed to do laundry now, he had maybe one outfit left out of the clothes he took when he left home.

Once he was changed he came back around to take the wet clothes from the green eyed man, throwing them into a plastic bag with his own on the floor of the back seat. The closest town, Hannibal, wasn’t far from where they were and he’d find a laundromat there, he was sure.  
  
“I’m Castiel,” Castiel said, sliding into the driver’s seat, startling the other man who jumped slightly and pulled the blanket closer.  
  
“Dean,” he rasped, voice hoarse.

Castiel nodded and started the car, “Well Dean, you probably need a hospital.” Castiel pulled out and started them towards the next town, looking over at Dean once he had them on the road.  
  
“No!” Dean said urgently, “No hospital, I can’t…” He looked away, avoiding Castiel’s gaze when he finished, “I can’t afford it.”  
  
Castiel nodded his understanding and didn’t mention it again, taking them instead to an all night diner that conveniently sat opposite a 24hr laundromat. He pulled up alongside the curb and turned to Dean.  
  
“Do you want to go grab us a table? Maybe order some coffee?” Castiel asked, watching the other man carefully.  
  
Dean looked at him for a long moment before nodding. “Alright,” he agreed, shucking off the damp blanket and handing it to Castiel before stepping out of the car.  
  
Castiel gathered up their wet clothes, as well as the blanket, and ducked into the laundromat. He hurriedly put everything into a washer and set it on a quick wash cycle to get the silt and mud from the river out of them.  
  
Dean was nursing a steaming mug of black coffee when Castiel slid into the booth across from him, a second mug was pushed in front of him as soon as he was seated.  
  
“I ordered for you,” Dean said sheepishly, waving his hand at the black liquid.  
  
Castiel eyed it cautiously and took a sip, sighing happily at the perfect combination of bitter-sweet. “It’s perfect.”  
  
Dean straightened up and eyed him thoughtfully. “Really?” he asked, incredulous. “I just ordered it the way I like mine.”  
  
“Black and two sugars?” Castiel asked, taking another sip and looking over at Dean with his eyebrows raised.  
  
Dean nodded with a shrug, “Yeah, it’s how I’ve always liked it. Everyone usually thinks it’s weird.”  
  
Castiel hummed thoughtfully and looked out the window towards the laundromat, enjoying the way the hot mug warmed his hands as the coffee warmed him from the inside.  
  
“Castiel?” Dean asked softly, getting his attention again. “How did you know?” At Castiel’s confused look he tried again, “How did you know where I was?”  
  
Castiel opened his mouth and closed it again, unsure what to say. He swallowed and decided to go with the truth, “I, uh, I didn’t,” he admitted. “My mother kicked me out and I just drove, I passed a sign and suddenly got the idea to throw myself off the bridge, and when I got there, well your car was there and you weren’t…”  
  
Dean’s eyes were wide and he stared at Castiel in shock, “I had the idea to _just drive_ earlier, my dad and I had a fight and, well I ended up at the bridge. I’ve been suicidal for a while I guess,” Dean flushed at the admission, but well, the guy had just pulled him from a river and brought him back from death, it wasn’t like he didn’t already know.  
  
“I know.” Castiel’s words, while echoing Dean’s current train of thought, seemed to go deeper than that, like he actually knew the extent of Dean’s suicidal thoughts. “I heard you,” Castiel mumbled softly, haunted blue eyes meeting confused green across the table. “I heard you, your suicidal thoughts.”  
  
“What?” Dean asked, brain skidding to a halt.  
  
Castiel nodded and looked down to rub his arm self consciously. Dean reached out and gently caught his hand, gingerly pushing up the sleeve to bare Castiel’s scars and sores. Castiel let him and swallowed heavily. “See I’ve always turned to self harm,” he admitted quietly, a shiver going through him as Dean’s fingertips gently explored his skin. “Never been much for suicidal thoughts though, until recently.”  
  
Dean met his eyes and carefully pulled his own sleeve back, showing his own sores and scars, “I’ve never really self harmed, until recently. Just really been an all or nothin’ kinda guy. But lately, lately there was always a voice talking me out of it, telling me there was something out there that would make it worth it.”  
  
Castiel saw the moment that Dean came to the same realization he’d had on the bridge, he nodded and leaned forward, catching Dean’s eye again. “I understood, finally, tonight… when it was almost too late, I heard you drowning, I could _feel_ _you_ _dying_.”

“But I can’t hear your thoughts now,” Dean mumbled, suddenly anxious that they’d gotten it wrong after all.  
  
Castiel rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, “Well, it’s only so we can find each other. It apparently stops after our first kiss.”  
  
“First kiss?” Dean echoed, eyes darting to Castiel’s lips automatically, “We haven’t kissed.”  
  
Castiel coughed awkwardly. “Well, our mouths touched when I did CPR,” he admitted.  
  
“CPR isn’t a kiss!” Dean exclaimed incredulously, feeling suddenly cheated. He stood up abruptly, and something inside of Castiel shrank back. He looked down at the table and sighed.  
  
“I’m not making it up,” he promised Dean, without looking up. He flinched when a hand grasped his and pulled him from the booth. His gaze snapped up, assessing for motive and if he’d need to defend himself.  
  
Dean smiled softly at him, gently pulling him closer. “I know,” he murmured, resting their foreheads together. “I heard you too, felt your panic and your pain.”

Dean huffed a scarcely there laugh, barely a rush of air passing from his lips, “I thought I was broken you know?” He squeezed his eyes closed for a moment before snapping them open as though afraid Castiel would disappear. “My brother could always hear his soulmate, heard her voice, clear as a bell. I thought I was alone, cursed.”  
  
Castiel shook his head gently. “I guess it’s harder to tell when your soulmate is the same gender as you,” he huffed a weak laugh, “or maybe we are cursed after all.”  
  
Dean tightened his grip and pulled Castiel closer still, gently brushing their lips together with a contented sigh, “Cursed or not, I’d rather have you.”  
  
Castiel felt it when their lips touched this time, something inside of him that he hadn’t realized was broken being suddenly mended. Warmth spread through him and he sighed happily into the kiss. When they separated both men were breathing heavily. Sure, they were both broken and they had their problems, but together they could start healing.  
  
Castiel caught Dean’s eye and smiled, it didn’t matter where they ended up, as long as he was with Dean, he would be home.


End file.
